


First Date

by anotherdiana



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, fanfic contest, phantastic homos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:13:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdiana/pseuds/anotherdiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Phantastic Homos Fanfic Contest.<br/>I've been trying desperately to write something fluffy, because I've been quite mean to Raoul lately. This is the best I could do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Date

For the contest here: [PhantasticHomos](http://phantastichomos.tumblr.com/)

* * *

 

 

“Monsieur le Vicomte. I wish, no, I would _like_ to… No.”

Erik closed his eyes for a moment, calming his breathing.

“Monsieur, I have long wanted to… express my…”

Erik cleared his throat, and tried again, clutching his single rose awkwardly.

“Raoul, I - _God, no_. I can’t do this. Monsieur le-”

“Are you aware that the Vicomte is not actually in the room?”

Erik swore violently, and spun to face Madame Giry, clutching his chest. The woman was like a cat.

“Damn it! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

Madame Giry smirked, and walked into Box Five, her hands clasped neatly behind her back.

“Language, Erik. You’re crushing your rose.” She pointed out.

Erik looked down, and quickly unclenched his fist.

“May I assume that the rose is for the Vicomte de Chagny? And that he is to meet you tonight?”

Erik scowled, refusing to meet her eyes. This was looking to be a worse idea by the second. He could barely string two words together when faced with the Vicomte. He had taken to covering his eyes with his hand when he was shouting his demands from the rafters, just so he wouldn’t get distracted by the boy’s pretty face. It had almost caused him to lose his footing on more than one occasion.

“He has made it clear that he intends to view the opera from this box, whether I am present or not.”

“And so you thought that you would present him with a rose.”

It sounded completely idiotic now that he heard it spoken aloud. Just because the boy had not run screaming on the few occasions that Erik had appeared in front of him, it did not mean he was willing, or able, to overlook Erik’s hideous face, and frankly appalling personality to engage in a romantic (and preferably physical) relationship with him.

“It was a foolish notion. I will leave him to enjoy the opera in peace.”

Erik made to leave the box, stopping when he felt Madame Giry’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I think it’s a very good idea. Stay. And stop worrying.”

With that, she left, as silently as she had arrived.

Erik dropped the rose on the small table, and threw himself into his chair, fishing out the boy’s latest missive from his waistcoat pocket, settling to read it for the hundredth time.

_Monsieur,_

_I appreciate the difficulty you must have in procuring a suitable box, do not doubt that I understand your reluctance to give it up._

_However, Box Five contains two seats._

_You will correct me if I am mistaken, but you have not yet invited anyone to escort you to tonight’s opera._

_Therefore, I will be occupying the second seat during tonight’s performance. I will arrive at our box at precisely six thirty. I will order a bottle of champagne._

_Whether you join me for the opera or not is entirely your decision._

_At your service, as always,_

_Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny._

Erik re-folded the letter carefully. He had not bothered to reply to the letter. What could he say? He had changed his mind a dozen times about coming. He was still not sure that he had made the right decision.

It could not be wise to let his hopes blossom, only to have them dashed as soon as the Vicomte arrived and made it clear that he had been hoping Erik would not show up. Or didn’t care either way. Or had wanted him to be present, in order to mock him. Or perhaps worst of all, wanted him present, wanted to encourage a friendship, to spend time with Erik, and wanted nothing more.

The boy was everything he had ever wanted. He was kind and compassionate. He had time for everyone, and Erik had never heard him utter an unkind word. He was passionate, bright, animated. Light and warmth radiated from him. He was beautiful in a way that Erik had never imagined. He had a purity about him that was completely charming. In short, he was the precise opposite of Erik.

The most endearing thing about him; more than his honey-coloured hair, and his wide, honest eyes, and more than his delicate, slim little body; was the way he treated Erik. Each time they had met, Erik had received genuine smiles, and shy little glances. He had talked to Erik as if he were a normal person, just like anyone else. He didn’t even seem to notice the mask. He never asked why Erik threatened the managers, or made demands. He didn’t ask why he was so cruel and callous to the population of the Opera. He never once asked why Erik kept to himself, never showing himself in public. He only asked how he had been keeping, whether he was well, if he would be attending the opera, if he would like some company as he watched rehearsals.

And finally, the Vicomte had won. They would watch the opera together.

Erik stood quickly, tucking the letter back into his pocket, picking up the rose again and playing with it distractedly. His palms were sweating. Was it normal for a person’s palms to sweat?

He wanted to flee, but it was too late, because it was six thirty, and he could hear the Vicomte’s soft footfalls approaching. He straightened himself up, pulling his shoulders back, tucking one arm behind his back. He held the rose carefully in the other hand, and attempted to school his features into a neutral expression, or at least one that didn’t look quite as terrified as he felt.

The Vicomte appeared in the doorway to the box, looking slightly out of breath, a bright smile lighting up his face.

“Monsieur le Phantom! I wasn’t sure you’d come!”

“I never miss an opera.” Erik managed, without sounding too much like he was being strangled.

He offered the rose wordlessly, trying desperately to think of something nice to say that wouldn’t sound as though he were planning to kidnap and/or murder the boy. _You smell like lilacs, your voice is like the song of the angels, I watch your every move_.

Raoul took the rose with a grin.

“Thank you.” He said, shyly.

_Just tell him he looks nice!_

No such words came out, so Erik gestured to the seats instead.

“Shall we?”

They moved together to the front of the box, sitting down just as the Overture began.

Raoul glanced at Erik, and reached over to take his hand, making the other man jump.

He grinned again.

First dates were a challenge, but the second date would certainly be worth it.

 

 


End file.
